


Homesick

by IWillBeTheEndofYou



Category: Shall We Date?: Obey Me!
Genre: Cuddles, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Homesickness, Hugs, Panic Attacks, Sleepless nights, The writer offers no apology, feeling better, listen I love this game I can't help it, until you can make it better
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-30
Packaged: 2021-03-06 17:07:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 10,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26092339
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IWillBeTheEndofYou/pseuds/IWillBeTheEndofYou
Summary: The Reader is homesick in Devildom. How will each of the brother's help her in his own special way?
Relationships: Asmodeus (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Beelzebub/Belphegor (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Reader, Leviathan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)/Original Female Character(s), Lucifer/Main Character (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!), Main Character/Mammon (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!)
Comments: 55
Kudos: 369





	1. For Your Love, I'm Sorry, For Your Pain Don't Worry

**Author's Note:**

> I'm thirty and playing this game. Come at me. 
> 
> There will be a playlist for this fic.
> 
> I have been in quarantine for too long.

There was no such thing as perfect silence here, you found. Which of course made sense, there was no perfect silence in the human realm either. At least there, you reasoned, you were able to tune out some of the noise. But over the last few days, it felt like the noise was in your head. It started out as a faint hum, like being near a hummingbird. And now it was louder, an irritated drone that could almost drown out your voice.

You crept through the halls in the House of Lamentation. Everyone seemed to be still. When you paused by Levi's door, you didn't hear any video game noises, or theme music to any anime. You had hoped he'd be awake, provide you with some company to dull down the buzzing in your head that you couldn't escape.

Just as well, you thought. You were rotten company right now. You felt like you were moving through molasses. It was hard to concentrate in classes. Solomon asked you something twice yesterday, and it still took all the concentration you could muster to be able to understand and respond appropriately.

And even laying alone in your bed didn't give you silence. 

You shuffled down the hall, arms crossed over your chest. You could head to the kitchen, poke around for a snack. But nothing sounded good. You could try and head back to bed, lay awake in the dark for awhile and chase sleep. But sleep had been running from you lately, like Mammon when he owed money.

With a sigh, you paused and still for a moment. You wanted to lay in your bed, you realized. You wanted your own blankets, washed in your own detergent. You wanted to go to the coffee shop, order a decadent and ridiculous coffee drink that didn't smell faintly of Devildom and despair. You wanted to look up into the night sky and see a thousand pinpricks of light shining down at you, to feel infinite and infinitesimally small all at once.

And you wanted the silence.

You paused at the last door. There was a tiny bit of light coming from the crack under the door. You caught the whiff of wood burning and heard the faintest crackle of fire. You lifted your knuckles to knock and then hesitated. 

Whatever would draw you here? You knew Lucifer didn't like to be disturbed. You were well informed. You gulped and turned to walk back towards your room.

“Come in,” his voice boomed from behind the door. “Don't stand there all night. Come in if you need something.”

Blushing faintly, you opened the door. He was sitting behind his desk, cloak off, shirt sleeves pushed up. Lucifer set his pen down. His word had sounded rough, but from the look on his face, you could tell he was just tired and frustrated. It wasn't supposed to be directed at you. He sat back in his chair a bit.

“What is it?” his tone softened a little bit. “You're up late, aren't you?”

“I...” you began. What was there to say? How could you say it? How could you tell him that you just wanted it to be quiet, and you thought for maybe just a minute he could make it quiet. But how to explain it was a noise only you could hear? Instead, you shook your head.  
“Nothing. I'm sorry, you're busy.”

“You know I'm not too busy for you. You do know that, don't you?” you just shook your head, nodded, shrugged. You swallowed a few times. Lucifer frowned thoughtfully and pushed back from his desk slightly.  
“What's the matter? I've never seen you quiet so speechless or lost. Is everything all right?”

You opened your mouth to assure him that everything was fine. Make more apologies and excuse yourself. Go back to bed and sleep. Just sleep. None of that came out of your mouth. To your shock, dismay, and embarrassment, a sob escaped your mouth.

Before you could stop it, you were crying in front of his desk. Your buried your face in your hands, not wanting him to see. You didn't even want to look at him in that moment. You didn't even hear him get up from the desk and walk over to you. Which, of course, shouldn't have been a shock. Lucifer always did walk elegantly, gracefully. It wouldn't suit him to stomp or rush clumsily. You felt his hands on your wrists, gently prying your hands away.

“Did someone hurt you?” the words were barbed wire wrapped in velvet. “Did my brothers do something that hurt you?” He would have killed them, you were sure. Anyone you named would never have been able to escape punishment from the Avatar of Pride. 

“N-no,” you choked out. You took a shaky breath, trying to stop crying. “I just—I want...” he pressed a handkerchief into your hand. Of course, you thought. Of course he had one, which smelled deliciously of him. You sniffled and wiped at your eyes. But the tears kept oozing down.

“What do you want?” he prompted carefully, his hands hesitating before pressing firmly to your shoulder. “Tell me.”

You shook your head, sobbing again. You tried to tear away, but he held you fast. You felt the power in those hands. The buzzing got louder in your head, and you shook it. Trying to slip away, trying to outrun that sound. But he refused to let you go, pressing ever so gently.

“No,” the words swam to your brain. “Follow my breathing. In and out. Yes, that's right. That's better.”

When the last shuddering sob was done, Lucifer gave you a small smile.

“That's a good girl. Now, tell me what's wrong. I can fix it, but I have to know.”

Pride. Of course he'd think that he could make it all better.

“I miss home.” you managed to croak out. “Not that you're not all great. You've done so much for me. You make it great.” you were babbling.

“But it's not the same, is it?” Lucifer cut in. “You're not the only one who has been taken from a home to miss it.”

You inhaled sharply. Lucifer titled his head, contemplating you. One hand trailed to your cheek, cupping it gently. You realized again how warm he was. They were all warm, of course they were. But it always surprised you, ever time. 

“You haven't offended me. I'm not angry. I was concerned something like this might happen. It's okay.”

“I'm sorry,” you whispered. 

“For being human? Don't you know that's one of the things I cherish about you most?” you were blushing again, and wondered if he realized what he had said. And more importantly, were there other things he cherished about you? 

“I shouldn't bother you at night.”

“You're not a bother. Never a bother. You're not asking for money or destroying the fridge or complaining about either of those things. I want to help you. What can I do?” Lucifer chuckled softly. You stood for a moment, considering his question.  
“Do you want to go home? We can talk to Diavolo. We can make that happen.”

“No!” you said it quicker and harsher than you intended. “God. No. I want to stay here with you.” Okay, lot to unpack there, you thought. Better just throw out the whole suitcase.

“I see. I would be quite sad to see you go. I wouldn't stop you. I only want what's best for you and what will make you happy.” he tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear.  
“I am pleased that you're calming down some. You look exhausted,” he peered at your face, tilting your chin side to side. “Haven't you slept?”

“No, not really.” you shrugged. “It's fine.”

“Why didn't you come to me?” he sighed. Without another word, he wrapped you in his arms and pulled you to his chest. You froze for a heartbeat. You should push him away. You should want to scuttle away. Instead, you leaned into him. You could have melted into his arms.  
“I could have helped you.” he murmured into your hair.

“I just wanted it to be quiet. It's too loud in my head right now.”

But even as you said it, the buzzing was dying. A sense of calm began to creep up your spine. He laughed softly against your scalp.

“Let me see if I can make it quiet.”


	2. Never, Now, Or Too Soon.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Touch starvation is real.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My husband was like "What's your writing process?"
> 
> And I was like, my dude I just listen to one inspo song until I have sucked every drop of enjoyment out of it.

You sat in your room, staring down at a text book. Turn a page, you prompted yourself. This test won't take itself. Your D.D.D buzzed then, causing you to jump. You scrambled to pick it up. Asmo's name lit up the screen, complete with the heart stickers he preferred.

Asmo: What are you doing?

You: Studying.

Asmo: Cool, you're not busy. Come to my room.

You: I'm studying!

Asmo: I said not busy! Come on, please? Pretty please with sugar on top?

You could practically see Asmo flashing those puppy dog eyes. With a sigh, you slammed the book shut and shuffled to his room.

“There you are!” he gushed as he opened the door. He blinked at you a few times. “You okay?”

“Of course,” you murmured. “What did you need, Asmo?”

He paused for a moment and titled his head to the side. His carefully coiffed hair fell against the delicate features of his face. Asmo was pretty, you mused. You knew he tried so hard to be pretty, pretty was a life goal for him. But he could turn heads whenever he wanted. 

You wanted to reach out and let your fingers trace down his chin. You wanted to carefully want his hair around your fingers. 

It had been awhile since you had touched someone, you realized. Back home, you were tactile with your friends. Sitting crowded together on chairs and couches. Leaning against them when you were hanging out, backs to shins while watching a movie. Having them play with your hair. Having them do your make up. There were some friends you were close enough to that you would lay next to each other in bed, happy to be near each other.

It made your heartache.

“I was going to take you out shopping.” he said slowly. “I saw something that Majolish that you would just look amazing in. But,” he frowned. “I don't think that's what you need.”

The prospect of shopping didn't excite you. You wanted to stop and consider that for a moment. Turn the implications over in your mind. Pick it apart and reconstruct it until the meaning got lost in the mire of anxiety.

“No,” you blurted out. “No, Asmo. Thanks for thinking of me, truly. But I just don't want to go.” 

“I can see that.” before you could turn to leave, he grabbed your wrist and tugged you into his wrist, closing the door behind you and locking it with a smart click.  
“What do you need?”

“I am not in the mood.” you said flatly. The Avatar of Lust was ALWAYS flirting and usually it was lovely. But right now it felt like sandpaper against the back of your neck. Even thought you wanted touch, that wasn't going to hit the right buttons. Instead, you rubbed your eyes with the heels of your hands.  
“I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. I have to study, Asmo. Raincheck, okay?” you turned to reach for the door. But Asmo put his hands, with the delicate fingers with the dainty tips on your shoulders. With surprising strength, he spun you around.

“This isn't about not shopping. Tell me the problem.”

You stared for a moment, surprised to feel hot tears pricking at your eyes. You turned away, embarrassed, crossed your arms over your chest.

“It's nothing you did.” you mumbled.

“Is it something I didn't do?” he bit his lower lip thoughtfully. It was a gesture that could have been skewed towards sexual. But that wasn't the vibe Asmo was giving out. You rarely saw the thoughtful side of him. It was so often lost in pink clouds and intoxicating perfume, wrapped in flirtatious words and long glances. 

Either way, he was uncomfortably close to the truth, so you just shook your head.

Asmo hummed for a moment, eyes trailing down your body. You were aware of the messy ponytail. The clean but worn sweatpants, the tshirt that rode up high on your belly, exposing just one strip of flesh. The floppy slippers. Comfy clothes, you told yourself. Better for studying. 

“You need a bath.” he said suddenly.

“Now wait just a minute! Are you implying I stink?” your cheeks burned hotly, and your hands went to your hips. You bathed regularly! You wore deodorant, a dusting powder, and a few spritzes of body spray.  
“Wait, not like that.” Asmo shook his hands frantically, as though banishing the thought. “That's not what I meant. Why don't I show you?”

Before you could protest, he was dragging you towards his bathroom. His energy was almost contagious. That was Asmo for you, you thought fondly. Chasing away rain clouds. His bathroom was luxurious and delightful. The perfect temperature, a tub deep enough for at least four people. 

Asmo busied himself lining up products on the sink. He stopped the drain and let it fill with steaming water, pouring in bottles until the scent of lavender filled the air and bubbles filled the tub. He turned to you then with a grin.

“Tell me what's wrong.” the request was peppy and almost cute. You glanced at the tub, instantly understanding the game. Answer the question, get a bath. And the baths Asmo prepared were legendary. You looked down at your slippers.

“I miss home. I guess.”

“Home? The human realm?” he blinked, surprised. “But darling, it's obviously better here. I mean, I'm here, after all!”

“It's not that.” you looked up sharply. “You and the others are wonderful. That's not it, though.” your eyes stung, and this time you didn't try to stop the tears.  
“There are other things I miss.”

“We could get them for you.” he frowned. “Don't you know I'd do anything you asked me to? I can make the impossible possible.”

“You can't make it stop.” 

“Make what stop? Hey,” he caught your chin and turned it carefully towards him. “Make what stop? What is it?”

You stood there for a moment, the smell of Asmo—intoxicating and comforting, a smell that made you think you could follow it home like a trail of breadcrumbs—filled you. You inhaled deeply. It was going to sound ridiculous.

“I just miss being touched.”

“Touched?” he repeated.

“Not like that,” a smile quirked up your lip inspite of yourself. “No, I mean like... I never hold hands with anyone or hug anyone or sit with anyone. Not next to, but really with. We don't do that here, and I'm respecting boundaries. But I want to be hugged, I want it so much that it hurts! And it's silly, and I am sorry. I'm not a child.”

“It's not silly.” he murmured. “Not silly at all.”

Before you could think, Asmo wrapped on arm around your waist, the other cupped the back of your head. He drew you in close to him, your face in his neck. The scent of him was stronger there, more precious. You inhaled him deeply.

“Tell me if you're uncomfortable.” he stepped away from you. You wanted to reach out to him like a child with gimme hands. Instead, you tamped that feeling down and let him strip the shirt away from you. He unclasped the bra with an expertise that would have made you raise an eyebrow if you weren't moving to cover yourself with you arms.

If he felt anything about that, he didn't mention. Before you could think, your pants and underwear were stripped off. You stepped out of them and your slippers. Before you could speak, he hustled you in the tub, warm and deep.

You sank in with a sigh. Asmo sat on the edge, smiling. He grabbed a loofah, squirting a rich body wash and beginning to soap your shoulders. Your eyes drifted shut as he lifted an arm to carefully wash your hands and between your fingers. His arm braced against your shoulders as he laid you back to wet your hair and then wash it with more thorough, loving fingers you had ever felt.

“Why didn't you say?” he asked after he'd laid you back to rinse your hair. You just looked at him and blinked slowly. Suddenly, you realized how naked you were and who you were with. You were grateful for the thick layer of bubble foam covering your more interesting pieces.

“How do you say 'Hey touch me because I just really need it?'” you mumbled.

“You ask for a hug.”

“Uh, I don't know if you've noticed this, but your brothers aren't really the hugging type? Maybe Beel and you.” you said thoughtfully. “But not the others. And—I don't know. I didn't want to demand it. It seemed silly and kinda selfish.”

“It isn't selfish to have your needs met.” he reached for the drain and yanked, handed you a robe. “Dry off and then come into my room.”

You dried off with one of the towels, wrapped yourself in the thick robe. Egyptian cotton or something, no doubt. Asmo was stretched out on his bed, flipping through a magazine. He smiled to see you standing there.

“You look amazing in my robe, you know.”

“Don't,” you blushed. But you were smiling. Even still, he stopped speaking. He scooted back and patted the bed.

“Come and lay here.”

“Is that a good idea?” you said hesitantly. He was the Avatar of Lust, after all. Was this tempting fate? 

“All you ever have to do is give me a command.” he reminded you. That was true, those were the rules of the pact as you understood them. You crept towards the bed. “Besides, don't you know that I would never want to hurt you? I may want you, but I want to respect your boundaries. I want you to want me, I would never force you. Never.”

You laid down facing him. Asmo reached out and pulled you to him, his fingers playing with the ends of your hair. You let your eyes shut as Asmo nestled close to you, wrapping you in his scent. This, this was exactly what you had been missing.


	3. Show Me What I Can't See

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> None of the food in Devildom was quite what you wanted.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been doing Noom, and I gotta be honest... I miss PB and Js.

The cuisine here was not to be missed. If there was a guidebook to Devildom, that would be the first sentence about the food. And it was true that there were certain things that were delicious. There were the candy apples that Lucifer favored, the sandwiches. Anything that Barbatos made was sure to be delectable. 

But none of it was the same. It was true that Luke and Simeon and even Solomon would try their hand at human realm cookery. But none of it just hit home. The frosting here didn't reach the right consistency. There wasn't a fluffy loaf of white bread and jar of smooth peanut butter anywhere to be seen, you realized. 

And this is to say nothing of the spices. Everything was seasoned to perfection, and so often that seasoning was hot. There was nothing wrong with a little kick to things, but you were getting tired of so much being spicy. 

You sat at dinner, half listening to the bickering and jokes that the brother's hurled at each other. You smiled wanly at a few and stared down at your plate. For the fact that these were powerful men, it interested you that they shared cooking. Why not just have an underling do it? You lifted your spoon and let the soup pour back into the bowl.

“Is everything okay?” Beel's voice, smooth and deep, rumbled in your ear. You almost jumped, having forgotten that he was sitting next to you. You dropped the spoon and nodded.

“Perfectly fine.”

“You aren't eating.” he pointed out. Your cheeks flushed and you looked away. Leave it to him to notice, you thought with a note of fondness. 

“I'm not hungry.”

“Not hungry?” he repeated, as thought that were a forgein concept to him. You only shrugged and rose sharply from the table.

“Excuse me, please.” you murmured. A silence fell over the room and you turned and headed to your room. The whispers started quickly after. What was wrong? Were you okay? Was it something Beel said? What had he said--?

You flopped face down on your bed, not bothering to turn on the light. You wriggled out of your shoes. In all honesty, you hadn't eaten all day. But you had no desire for the hot soup, or anything on the table. You knew even if you went down to the kitchen, there would be nothing there to pique your interest.

You laid quietly, starting to doze. You should get up, you thought foggily. Should shuck off your uniform and slither into a comfy set of pajamas. Take a page out of Belphegor's book and lay with a big body pillow.

But that would take energy, and you didn't feel like you had any.

The door opened, light from the hall spilling over your face. You turned your face to the door and startd when you saw Beelezebub standing there. He shifted his weight from one foot to the other.

“I wanted to check on you. Since you didn't eat supper.”

“I'm fine.” you mumbled without thinking. “But thanks.”

“Are you sick?”

No. Yes. No. Well, yes, but also no.

You were sick for the taste of cheap white bread and thick jelly and peanut butter. You were sick for ice cream cones bought from a truck. You were sick for tomatoes, picked ripe and red from the garden, skin bursting against your teeth when you bit down. Or for peaches eaten on the beach, the sun beating down on your legs, exhausting from swimming. 

“Yes!” you cried out, sitting up to pull your knees to chin. “Yes, I'm sick.”

“Why didn't you say?” he was in your room in a moment, sinking to his knees beside your bed. One hand, large and powerful, pressed to your forehead. “We'll get you to see one of the doctors. Where do you feel bad?”

“Beel,” you almost smiled. It was precious to see him so concerned. The worry etched in his eyes, the way he bent his body, so tall and strong down towards you. “It isn't that kind of sick.”

“I don't understand.”

“I'm homesick.” you clarified.

“Oh,” he sat back on his heels and contemplated you for a moment. “What are you homesick for, exactly? All of it, or something in particular?”

That was an interesting question, now that you thought about it. You looked at your stocking feet and sighed, thinking. He didn't prompt you, didn't push you. You liked that about Beelzebub. He let you take your time. He was quiet, but there was a lot more going on in his head than he let on. Maybe that was for the best.

“The food.” you said quietly.

“What kinda food? We got food here. Have I eaten everything you wanted? I'm sorry, I do that sometimes. I can't help it.”

“No!” you laughed then, and he looked pleased to see a smile lighting up the sadness on your face. “It's not that. You don't have any of the food I want.”

“What do you want?”

The possibilities were almost dizzying. You missed so much. There was too much to chose from. You waited for the overwhelmed feeling to recede before really thinking about it. 

“Watermelon, fresh. Cherries, right from the tree. And peanut butter and jelly.” you felt your mouth water and swallowed quickly.   
“I know, silly. You have stuff that should be close enough here.”

“Not the same though, huh?” he said softly. You shook your head sadly. Beelzebub just looked at you for a few moments. You laid back on your bed, curled on your side. One of his hands, slightly rough, carded through your hair. You pressed into the touch, happy for the comfort he sought to give you.   
“You should go to sleep.”

“Good night.” you whispered. You let your eyes drift shut. You almost swore you felt his lips brush against the shell of your ear. But surely you must have been dreaming.

In the morning, you changed into a fresh uniform. You shuffled downstairs. No one else seemed to be awake yet. Just as well, sometimes you needed a little time to prepare yourself before all seven of them came at once. There was nothing wrong with them, they were just—a lot. That was all. 

You sat alone at the table, letting your fingernails run along the grooves.

“Oh good!” Beelzebub suddenly appeared. “There you are!”

“Good morning,” you blinked. He wasn't known to be up so early, and certainly not before breakfast was put on the table. He was grinned at you, practically glowing. And even though you didn't feel much like it, you found yourself smiling back.  
“You're in a good mood.”

“Yes, you will be too!” he began carrying in platters of food. You glanced at the offers, bit your lip at the sausages and eggs and pancakes and muffins. The same fare offered nearly every morning. None of it could whet your appetite. 

The others came trickling in, wishing you good morning. Soon enough there was the typical din of forks on plates, of demands to be given a helping of this or that. You sipped your water and said nothing. Didn't even try to fill your plate.

“Here.” Beelzebub was there again. “Especially for you.”

“Beel!” you gasped. “Oh!”

The plate was heaped with watermelon spears, and cherries carefully arranged. And of course, in the middle of it was a peanut butter and jelly sandwich. The familiar smell wafted towards your nose. You turned to look at him, mouth agape.

“Do you not like it?” he frowned thoughtfully.

“It's perfect, I love it.” you swallowed hard. “How did you do this?”

“Stayed up all night. I made it happen.” he shrugged one shoulder. “I just wanted to see you eat.”

You lifted up one piece of watermelon. You inhaled deeply, letting the sweet scent flood you. One delicate bite, letting it crush against the roof of your mouth. Juice was running down your chin, but you didn't care. You closed your eyes and let your head fall back.

“It's delicious.” you whispered.

“Good,” Beel sank down into the seat next to you. You noticed that he didn't even bother to fill up a plate for himself. Instead, he picked up a cherry and held it to your lips. When you swallowed the melon, you bit carefully, the tart flavor seeping down. You chewed carefully. 

He fed you breakfast that way, giving you careful bites. Watching you chew and swallow. He was only satisfied when the plate was empty. His brothers drifted out of the room, and to your surprise no one commented on what was happening. No one seemed to get jealous, no one made catty remarks. 

When the food was gone, Beelzebub wiped at your mouth with a napkin.

“Aren't you hungry?” you asked softly.

“Nah,” he shook his head. “I feel all full, seeing you eat like that.”

“Thank you,” you whispered. He smiled that sunny, optimistic smile you'd come to love so well. 

“I couldn't sit and watch you suffer like that. Not when I knew there was something I could do about it. If you feel like that again,” he swallowed hard. “Tell me. Tell anyone. Don't you understand that there isn't anything I wouldn't do to make it better?”

“I think I'm getting a clue.” you admitted.


	4. And the Trouble That We'll Make

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mammon sees that something isn't quite right.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So my husband started watching JoJo's Bizarre Adventure when the kids go to bed. This is when I put on headphones and write. I think I'm having more fun than him! 
> 
> PS Feel free to make a request and/or drop me a line! brokenheartagram.tumblr.com!

They were all lovely, that was true. You thought to yourself as you sat in your room. And they each clamored for your attention, in his own way. But sometimes, you wondered if they wanted you because you were new. You were a novelty. You were interesting. Did they want to hang out with you because of who you were as a person?

You sat primly on the couch on movie night. The seven demon lords lounged around the room. They sprawled on the floor, they curled in chairs. There was a rhythm here, you realized. There was a sense of belonging. They were all puzzle pieces that made the picture whole.

But where did you fit in, exactly?

The thought pricked you somewhere deep. You swallowed suddenly, blinking fast and staring at the screen. The movie was a thriller, one of those 'blink and you miss it' plots. You had blinked, trapped in your own thoughts. And so you were missing it.

That wasn't the only thing. You rose suddenly and slipped from the dark room. Mammon looked up from his place on the floor. His mouth opened.

“It's fine.” you whispered before he could speak. “Just finish the movie. I just—I'm tired.” you said lamely.

You crept into your room and sat on the bed, staring at your hands. Back home, you loved movie nights. You and your friends would sit together afterwards, dissecting the film, pointing out the parts that were beyond suspension of disbelief. The parts that didn't gel well with the characters as they were trying top be portrayed. The parts that felt fake.

Fake. That was you. You felt your shoulders slumping.

You told them all every day how much you were enjoying it here. Lucifer had said that Diavolo had wanted to make sure you were comfortable, and so it was his duty to ask. Define comfortable, you thought. 

You knew damn good and well you didn't fit here. You were an experiment. And no one ever told you that you were impeding on what they had, you could feel it. The way the air changed when you walked into a room. The tension that you saw building up between the brothers. You didn't belong here.

You belonged at home.

“You slipped out early.” Mammon was in your room in an instant. Shouldn't have been a surprise, he was always barging in. After awhile, it was almost charming.  
“Ya okay?”

“Sure,” you shrugged. You knew you should smile, should reassure him. You just didn't have it in you right now.

“Wassamatter?” he dropped to his knees next to the bed, folding his arms and rested his chin on top.

“It's complicated.” you brushed it off. “It's fine Mammon, I'm just tired. Go on, I'll go to bed.”

“Ya know, I don't think I believe you. Not really. You're a terrible liar. That's why you can't beat me at poker.” he grinned, but it fell quickly when you didn't return the look.  
“C'mon, it's me. Your first.” he put a hand on your thigh and shook you gently. “Ya gotta know you can tell me anything.”

“I don't want to talk about it.” you muttered. 

“Well, I ain't leaving until you do. And ya know how annoying I can get!”

That was true enough. He had a special talent for being irritating. But maybe you could outwait him this time. You just sat on your bed, staring down at your hands. Sure enough, within a few minutes Mammon huffed and stood up. Instead of heading for the door, he began to roam around your room, picking up bits and bobs and putting them down in the wrong place.

And then the whistling started. That was enough to set anyone on edge. You slammed your fists into the mattress.

“Stop that!” you snapped.

“Touchy, touchy,” Mammon waggled a finger. “I can make this much worse for you.” 

Fair point. You shoved off the bed and walked over to him, hands clenched in fists at your sides. You stared at him, trembling slightly. Anger, fear, that sick feeling from what you had realized earlier tonight. It came washing over you.

“I don't belong here.”

“Of course not. I've already told ya, you belong in my room. Let's go.”

“No!” you jerked back from him as he grabbed for your wrist. “Not here, in my room. Here! Here Devildom.”

“Wait,” he blinked. “You can't really think that.”

“I know that.” you corrected him.

“Why would you think that?”

“Because the air changes when I walk in the room where you and the others are. Because you all fit together so nicely. Because I don't. I don't know why, Mammon, it's just a feeling.”

“Listen,” he crossed his arms. “My brothers and I have had millenia to get to know each other. Totally different dynamic.”

It was strange to hear something so sensible coming from him. You felt like you'd been punched in the gut. It was irrational to feel like you had been, you knew that. They had been nothing but welcoming. 

It just wasn't the same as home.

“It's not the same.” he winced, took a step away from you. “It's not the same as home!”

“Well uh, no.” he rubbed the back of his neck. You realized then that you were crying. Nothing made Mammon more uncomfortable than you being upset about something. He squirmed about uncomfortably as you let the tears roll down to drip off your chin.  
“C'mon, ya gotta stop cryin'.” he begged.

“I miss home.” you whimpered out, well aware of how childish you sounded.

Mammon seemed to soften then. He wrapped an arm around your shoulder and walked you back to your bed. You put your head on his shoulder, forehead against his neck. He reached out to hold one of your hands, letting you cry for a second.

“How can you miss home? You're with the Great Mammon.” he said softly. “I should have thought about it. Of course you do. How could ya not? Gotta be a lotta change for a puny, idiot human to come around here.”

Well, the words were maybe not super kind. But the tone was. It slipped over you like warm honey. You wanted to burrow further into Mammon. Somewhere in the back of your mind, you realized that he wasn't even upset that you were crying into his beloved leather jacket.

“Nothing feels the same.” you admitted. 

“'Course not.” he rubbed your shoulder. His cheek felt nice against the top of your head. “Don't cry. We'll talk to Diavolo if you want.” he hesitated, and you could almost taste the heartbreak in his voice, for all he was trying to hide it. “We'll send you home, if that's what you want.”

“No!” you pressed further into him. “I don't wanna go home. I wanna stay with you. I just don't want it to hurt so bad.”

“I'll make it not hurt.” he promised, with a hint of a brag. “I been tellin' ya, stick with me. I'll make it worth your while.”   
“Besides,” he said softly. “You fit somewhere.”

“Where?”

“Right here. Right beside me.” he held you even tighter. “I promise ya, I'll make sure you always fit here.”


	5. It's an Unspoken Heartbreak, A Heartbroken Handshake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Can anyone hear you at all?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sometimes at work, I'm plotting chapters in my head.

You couldn't put your finger on it. The boys were wonderful, you mused. The education was captivating. The scenery was unusual, and even if it did leave something to be desired by way of beaches and snowflakes, it wasn't unpretty. The flora and fauna could be spellbinding, in more ways than one. The food was at the very least edible. The company fantastic.

But it didn't feel quite right.

Not lately, anyway.

You mulled this over in the back of your mind, half listening to lessons. While you walked home, trailing after whomever was escorting you back to the House of Lamentation. As you stirred a bowl of batter with Luke, listening to him chattering brightly.

Sitting at dinner a few days later, it hit you.

The boys were teasing, taunting, speaking, eating. Back and forth. Their comfortable, easy rhythm slipping over you like a worn robe. But there was something itching at the back of your neck, and suddenly it hit you in the face.

“Isn't that right?” Asmodeus was prompting you to agree with him, arms crossed, as he glared daggers at Satan.

“Don't bring her into this!” Satan threw down his napkin.

“Well, I--.” you began.

“I am fully entitled to ask for her opinion.” Asmodeus hissed. “And she's entitled to agree or disagree with either one of us.”

“I appreciate--.” you tried again.

“You're just dragging her into this to try and prop up your weak argument.”

“That's nonsense! Darling, you would agree no matter who was saying it, wouldn't you?” Asmodeus turned to you with a smile.

“It's not---.”

“Quit asking leading questions.” Satan snarled. With a sigh, you looked down at your empty dinner plate. You never could get a word in edgewise. Slowly, you pushed your chair back and glanced at Lucifer, who was speaking with Beel about something to do with a sporting even coming up. You caught his eye and he nodded, before turning back.

Properly excused, you dragged yourself upstairs.

That was what it was. No one was hearing you.

It was true that they asked after you. It was true that they wanted your attention. They wanted you to pick the movie for movie night, tell them what food you liked, did you like this outfit, did you want to go for a walk? But so often, your response was lost in the mire of their disagreements.

You trudged through the hallways.

You crossed your arms and stared at your feet. A scream was bubbling up in your throat. Not a painful, heartrending scream. Just the type that you want to let out to make yourself feel better. When you just needed to scream before you could focus again and conquer whatever it was that was bothering you. 

A cathartic scream.

As you were contemplating this, you happened to collide with a solid body.

“Whoa! Can't you watch where you're going?” Leviathan jumped back. You blushed and frowned.

“Sorry,” you sighed. “I wasn't paying attention.”

“That much is evident.” he snarked, pausing to examine the box in his hands. “But you didn't hurt my new Ruri-chan figure, so I guess I can forgive you this time.” his eyes searched your face. Were you going to ask to see it? You at least pretended to be interested in his collections, unlike his jerk brothers. Your eyes looked far away, and you just looked bothered all around.  
“Are you okay?”

“No,” you mumbled, still looking down at your shoes. “I am not.”

“Oh,” that had not been the response Levi was expecting. “Um. Okay. Well. Come on back to my room. I-if you want want to? I wanna put this up before something happens to it. So. Let's go. I guess.” he turned and started back to his room, surprised when you followed, your feet dragging.

You slumped in one of his gaming chairs as he put the figure up in the perfect place. He smiled and spun to ask what you thought, then froze. You were staring at your hands, tears dripping down your face. Silent, hot tears. Tears of shame and sorrow and feeling overwhelmed.

“Don't!” he put up his hands. “Whatever you do, please don't cry!”

“I'm sorry!” you squeaked out. You looked up, eyes rimmed in red. “I know it makes you uncomfortable, and that's the last thing I want to do.”

“Stop!” he begged, as you cried harder. His eyes frantically looked around until he spotted a box of limited edition tissues from the game he'd beaten last week. “Here, take these.”

You looked at the box and burst into even harder tears.

“Please tell me what the problem is.” he felt frantic, like his heart was going to beat right out of his chest. You shook your head and gingerly took two tissues, careful of the box.  
“I just want to help.” and make you stop with the crying, he didn't add.

Your breath hitched, and he could tell you were trying to stop. He knelt in front of you, desperate. He put his hands on your knees, trying to catch your eye. He made himself pause for a moment, take a deep breath, and just wait. He listened to you cry for a few minutes, mopping at your eyes with the damp tissues. You finally let out a long breath.

“You're being remarkably patient.” you murmured.

“Didn't know what else to do.” he shrugged. “Now will you tell me what's upset you? I really do hate seeing you feel like that.”

“No one is listening.” you didn't meet his eye.

“What do you mean?” his brow furrowed.

“I can never finish a sentence. Everyone is talking over me. I feel like a toy, and I'm being pulled in a million directions.” you finally looked up and locked eyes with me. “I just want to be me again, sometimes.”

“What do you mean?” he chewed his lip thoughtfully.

“I just—back home I make all my own choices, and I can make myself heard. And it's so hard here. The etiquette is different, of course. And I can tolerate that. But I cannot scream loud enough over all seven of you.”

“It is hard,” he agreed. “I get it.”

“I miss feeling like I can manage. I miss—I miss home.”

“Home,” he repeated. It felt like his heart was being ripped out to hear her say that. “We just want you to be happy. I know I'm just an otaku, and I have problems, but I do love having you here. Don't say you want to leave.”

“See?” tears glistened in her eyes again. “Even you're trying to talk over me.”

“You're right.” he blinked a few times, sitting back on his heels. “You are completely correct. I kinda hate that.” he tilted his head to the side. You watched his fish tank for a minute. Levi stood up and took a deep breath.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, drawing you against his chest.

“Oh,” you murmured. He wouldn't have enjoyed this usually. You felt a warmth spreading through you, he was doing this for you.

“I'm listening.” he said into your hair. “I'll listen as long as you want me to. Please, just promise me that you'll stay.”

He sank down on to the floor then. You blinked a few times and cleared your throat. Already, the tightness in your chest was loosening. This was all you had wanted.


	6. A Second Chance to Give You Something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (Slight spoilers for That Incident With Belphegor) 
> 
> You can't dream here. It hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am shocked this turned out this way. I did not intend for something like this with Belphie.

Sleep was different here. That shouldn't come as a shock. Everything was different. But sleeping, that almost hurt. Ever since you were small, you had looked forward to dreaming. You had looked forward to being in another place. You chased dreams, reached out to catch them in your palms, to cup them into your heart.

There were no dreams here. There was no soft place to land into, no place where the fantastic could happen. And perhaps that was because of the magic all around you. You were constantly amazed at all the things that were possible here. 

But dreaming—you had hoped at first that you might be able to dream of home. You had thought that if you could visit those places, those people, and that feeling you wouldn't ache for it so much. It might have caused more of a heartache, but who could tell?

Instead, you fell into bed, and it felt like morning happened in a snap. There was nothing in between. And while your body felt rested, your mind did not. There was something restless inside of you, something that yearned for something more. An empty space that seemed to widen every day that went by without a dream.

You found yourself waking earlier and earlier. And at first, this didn't seem to be so bad. You'd had time to review for tests. To get started on kitchen duty, if it was your day (and Beelzebub was thrilled with the results). Maybe the rest without dreams was enough. 

Until it wasn't. You were waking up after barely any sleep. And you could not slip back into it. You laid and stared at the ceiling, turned to stare at the wall and door. You put on more blankets, kicked them all off. Nothing seemed to help. Not counting sheep. Not warm tea, graciously recommended by Lucifer to quiet the mind.

Nothing.

And then you could not fall asleep at all. You laid on top of the blankets in your pajamas and listened to the house falling asleep. Usually Mammon first, and you were certain that he slept sprawled in his bed, phone in hand, ready for a call or a scheme. Sometimes with video poker open.

Asmodeus second, eager for beauty sleep. Curled up in his silky sheets, with face cream under his eyes. 

Beel then, with his belly full, a back of snacks at the ready in case he woke in the middle of the night and needed more to eat. 

Leviathan, usually falling asleep in the middle of his favorite anime. 

Satan liked to stay up late reading, but even he took a book to fall asleep with eventually.

Lucifer was usually the last of that lot, doing paperwork and planning until the wee hours sometimes. You could hear the scratching of his pen, you thought, if you strained hard enough.

And then it seemed to be you and the sound of your own heartbeat. And, maybe Belphie. While you didn't harbor outrage for him since the Incident... You did tend to avoid him sometimes. You didn't like being alone with him. You didn't like that slithery feeling down your spine on the rare occasions when you two locked eyes.

It felt like weeks since you'd properly slept. There were bags under your eyes that you couldn't hide with make up, no matter what Asmo suggested. You were sluggish to class, even with one of the boys trying to hustle you along. When you tried to study with Satan, you just stared blankly, blinking slowly. 

Still, sleep did not come.

One night, you rose from the bed. Maybe a walk around the hallways would help. You crossed your arms and felt your feet drag. The world had become fuzzy. You felt sometimes like you were moving in slow motion. Coffee had helped a bit, but tonight when you went to pour a cup, Lucifer had snatched it from you with a shake of his head.

“I don't think that's what you need.”

“I can think for myself!” but your tongue was thick, and you were tripping over words.

“You need to sleep.” he sounded exasperated, and was that worry at the corners of his eyes? Worry for you and the lack of sleep? But you just shook your head.

“I'm fine.”

“You clearly are not.” Satan had piped up.

“Don't start,” you held up a hand. “I just do not have the energy.”

“We noticed.” he drawled.

“If you don't start feeling better, we may need to examine other avenues.” Lucifer cleared his throat. Dread filled the pit of your stomach. That didn't sound promising.

“Please let me be.” you moaned. “I don't want to talk about it. I'll figure it out, okay? I don't need you or anyone else to hold my hand about this. Just let me figure it out, please?” you knew you were begging. You weren't sure if you were being coherent or not, and that did pose a problem.

“You have three days to sleep.” Lucifer drew away from you then, took his place at the dinner table. You slunk to yours and ate dinner like you were moving through molasses. Their words washed over you, crashed against the rocks of your exhaustion. You were aware of their glances. You felt more than saw their eyes running down your body, the looks they exchanged.

You didn't want help. There wasn't even anything to help this, you figured. If there was a way to dream here, you would have figured it out by now.

“You're up late.” a not unfriendly voice came from a doorway. You jumped a mile, hand pressed to your chest.

“Belphegor!” you scolded. “You startled me.”

“Sorry,” he smiled sheepishly. He cocked his head to the side. “What are you doing? I heard footsteps, but when I came out, you were just standing, staring. Are you okay?”

“Ugh,” you rubbed your eyes. “I'm fine, I'm just tired.”

“Can't sleep?”

“Something like that.” you mumbled.

“Come in.” he stepped back, opening the door wide. You turned towards him, hesitated. The fact of the Incident hung in the air.  
“I don't blame you for not trusting me.” he paused. “I just want to talk. Beel is in the next bed. If you scream, he'll startle awake and save you. You don't have to be afraid.”

Well, that sounded like familiar words from him. But it was late, and you were tired, and parsing out an argument seemed like too much effort. You shuffled into the room, followed him to his bed. He wormed his way into a nest of pillows and blankets and looked at you expectantly.

You perched on the edge of the opposite side of the bed, facing him. He contemplated you for a moment. You were aware of the sound of Beel breathing heavily. Would he really wake up if you screamed? Could anyone save you, really? Your heart gave a thud.

“You look so tired.” Belphie said softly.

“I can't sleep.”

“Why not?” instead of offering a help, he wanted to know why. You ran your hands through your hair and shook your head.

“It's silly.”

“Maybe, but maybe I can help. What's the problem?”

“I can't dream.” you muttered, feeling your eyes water up in spite of yourself. Irrational and silly, yes. But you were so tired, and it hurt. Everything was starting to hurt. Belphie cast you a sympathetic look.

“That's probably normal for humans. Everything here is different. I don't know if it's a biology thing or a spirituality thing. But yeah,” he said slowly. “I can see why that wouldn't happen for you.” He scooted around the bed and made a nest for you, an arm's length from him.  
“Lay down.”

“Belphie...” you trailed off.

“I promise.” he shook his head. “It'll be okay. Beel will wake up. Just lay down for a minute. It makes me exhausted to look at you.”

You laid down gingerly, as though expecting the bed to take a bite out of you. The mattress was soft, the room the perfect temperature. The blankets slipped around your body just right. You should have been asleep in an instant. Instead, you were staring at Belphie.

“I miss dreaming.” you said softly. The tears slipped out, and you couldn't even wipe them away. Belphie just nodded with encouragement.  
“I wanted... I was hoping that if I dreamt, I could see home again.”

“The human realm?”

“Yes. I miss it.” you missed it so bad, you could almost taste it. Belphie hummed thoughtfully. He reached out and wiped at your tears. You were proud of yourself for not flinching. He let his palm cup your cheek.  
“I miss it like a lost limb.”

“Or a lost brother?” he gave a sad sort of smile. You could only nod.

“I suppose.”

“Listen....” he inhaled deeply, blew out through pursed lips. “I have an idea.”

“Please no tea. Please no weird potions.” you felt something like panic. “I really don't want to drink anything if I don't know what it is.”

“No no no,” he soothed you quickly. “Nothing like that. It's just that, well... I can give you a dream.”

“You can?” you perked up slightly. He nodded and gently, carefully, pressed your head to one of his pillows. So, so slowly he inched closer to you. You stopped breathing, your heart pounding. Even though you were so tired,   
adrenaline flooded you.

Just one scream. Beel would be up, and the others would come in soon enough. You could probably fight him off. You weren't at your best, though, and it was going to be difficult. You tensed, ready for the fight.

“I need you to trust me.”

“I'm trying.” you said tightly.

“I don't deserve it. But I want you to know that I am sorry. I just—I really want to help you with this. Can you give me a chance?” 

“I want to.” you managed, chewing on your lip.

“We can wake up Beelzebub.” he offered. “He can watch over this whole thing.”

“No,” you shook your head. “No, we can do this. I can do this. I can try to trust you.”

“Okay.” he scooted even closer. There was barely a breath of space between you. You stared at each other for a moment.  
“Please try and relax.”

You willed your body to release the tension. You didn't dare close your eyes though. Belphie's hand went to your forehead. His fingertips gently traced shapes just above your eyes. You felt the stress leaving your scalp. Your eyes were drifting shut. He hummed softly, just loud enough for you to hear. Your hand slipped out to tuck against his chest. His free hand came to catch it, lacing your fingers together.

You were sliding deeper and deeper into sleep. His hand was, at first, an anchor, but all at once, you were home. You stared at the familiar streets. The sun warmed your face. You inhaled, and could almost catch a scent of your favorite pizza place. People moved around you, some of them turning to smile and wave.

“Is it what you wanted?” he was beside you, still holding your hand.

“Everything and more.” you whispered.

“Good,” and then he was gone.

But before you could question it, you heard the calling of your mother, and raced towards it. Ran to throw your arms around her, be pulled in for a hug. It soothed some deep, dark pain that you hadn't been able to name. 

And when you finally broke the surface of that sea of dreaming, you felt better than you had in days. Your eyes adjusted instantly to the light. You sat up, sure you were smiling. You looked over at Belphegor, who cracked an eye open and smiled faintly.

“You dream really loudly, did you know?”

“No one has ever said.” you blinked a few times, peeling back the blankets to climb out of his bed.

“Well, it sounded like you had a wonderful time.” he yawned.

“I did. I really did.” you gave him such a bright, genuine smile. His heart lurched. “Thank you.”

“Come back anytime.” he said as you slipped quietly out of the room. “Anytime you want.”


	7. To Not Have Loved At Every Cost

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Satan realizes that in your stillness, there is misery.

Satan sat on the couch, turning the pages of the book. For once, none of his brothers were drifting in and out of the room. There was finally blissful stillness. He was as pleased as he could be, given the situation. 

You stepped into the room and jumped slightly when you saw him.

“Good afternoon,” he barely glanced up from the book. You murmured a greeting and took a seat in a chair across the room. You quietly opened your own book, a text from RAD. He thought about offering you help, but you didn't ask, and he wasn't one to overstep boundaries.

Usually.

Where you were concerned anyway.

After a few minutes, he glanced up, and you were still. Your eyes were unfocused on the text, a pencil poised above a sheet of paper. But you weren't moving at all. Satan shrugged, feeling slightly uncomfortable and going back to his book.

But after a few more pages, you still hadn't really moved.

“Is everything okay?” he broke the silence. You were incredibly frustrating sometimes. He didn't want to be concerned about you. But then all his brothers seemed so interested in you, and so he had to see what the fuss was about. And Lucifer made it clear everyone was to look out for you. He especially didn't want to obey Lucifer.

But the way the light hit your eyes. The way you titled your head in class when you were listening intently. The way you asked such intelligent questions. How could he help but want to be around you, too? How could he help but want to look after you? How could he help but care about you?

It was wonderful and painful and entirely your fault. And one of these days, he fully intended to let you know it.

“Hmm?” you blinked several times. “No. I mean, yes everything is okay. I just zoned out for a minute.” you cleared your throat and turned back to the book.

But Satan couldn't bring his attention back to his. There was something in the air that was surrounding you, and he didn't like the feel of it. He watched you over the edges of the pages, watched your pencil tip tapping at the paper. Watched you chewing your lower lip, which already looked raw. At first glance, you almost looked kissable, but upon closer inspection he wondered if it hurt.

And then one lonely tear dripped down. It seemed to dance with the light from the fire before it hit your book. Most demons wouldn't have been able to hear it, but he could hear the tiny 'plip' it made on the page of the text. You didn't move. He could tell you were measuring your breathing. 

Didn't take a detective to know that you didn't him to know that you were crying.

Quietly, he set the book to the side. He folded his hands in his lap and watched you silently, wondering when you'd look up. Finally you lifted your chin to glance at the fire. He saw the crimson spreading across your cheeks. Caught.

“Care to talk about it?” he asked casually, like he was offering to pour you a cup of tea. You nodded, shook your head, and shrugged.

“I don't know if I can put it into words.” you finally mumbled. Satan just sat back and patted the couch next to him. He should have been thrilled with a chance to be so close to you. Instead, it left an ache in his throat to see the misery that came off you in waves. You sat next to him, leaving a respectable amount of space.

“I'm good with words.” he offered. “Why don't you start and I'll try and fill in whenever I can? We can solve it together.”

“My heart hurts.” you picked at your cuticles. 

“In a clinical sense?” he frowned, suddenly concerned. 

“No, I don't think so.” you shook your head. “There are just times I really miss home. And it isn't that I don't love it here with you, of course.”

“Of course,” he murmured softly.

“It's just that things are different. And I understand that different is fine. I know that's how we learn and grow, blah blah blah platitudes.” you sniffed. He offered you a handkercheif. You gave a small smile of thanks that made his heart flutter. You swiped at your eyes and then crumpled the fabric in your palm, worrying at the edges that poked out.  
“It doesn't make it not hurt.”

“No,” he said thoughtfully. “I suppose it wouldn't.”

“And I didn't want to tell you. I didn't want to tell anyone.” you continued on. “Because there's nothing that you can do to fix it. And you, all of you, want to fix everything for me. There's no fixing this.”

“Perhaps the only way over it is through it.” he mused, half to himself and half to you. You only nodded miserably.  
“But I do wish I could make it hurt a little less.” he tucked a lock of your hair behind your ear. After a beat, you pressed into his side.

“It helps just to have you hear me. Not tell me to stop crying or try to fix it.” you murmured. “Sometimes, even surrounded by all of you, I feel so terribly alone.”

“Because you're the only human?” his arm found it's way around your waist and pulled you in tight. Your head landed on his chest. 

“I'm sure that's part of it. Only human. Only woman. I don't know.” you sighed, and he swore he could feel the weight of everything on you. He rubbed idly at your hip as you were quiet and still. Your unhappiness had a bitter flavor.  
“It's not like this at home.”

Homesick, he realized. Of course. You were entitled. He just hummed thoughtfully, prompting you to continue if you wanted. You seemed to want to burrow into him. You pressed your face deep into his sweater, inhaling that aroma of old books, fireplaces, and something spicier. Something like a surprise you weren't sure if you wanted or not. 

Satan continued to cradle you against him, like something fragile or precious. He wanted to gather you in his arms and hide you away, somewhere that this feeling would fall away from you. Somewhere he could bathe you in the light, and make you see what you really meant.

Maybe that was for another day.

“Don't leave me alone.” you said suddenly, your voice small.

“Leave you alone?” he repeated with a blink. 

“Please don't.” you repeated, your hand tight in his sweater. “I feel so alone, I hate it. I don't feel as alone when I'm with you.”

“Of course.” he whispered. His hand pressed against the back of your head. “I would never. I would never turn you away.”

You held on tightly for a moment. If you let go, you were sure you'd drift away. He said nothing, only rubbed at the back of your head. After a few minutes, he snagged one of the throw pillows and put it in his lap. 

He guided your head down, until you were laying on your side, facing the fire. He let his hand card through your hair, feeling some of the misery melt off you. You were almost like a cat, he thought with a grin, the way you barely restrained yourself from pressing up into the caress. 

“I'll read to you.” he picked up his book. It wasn't too far from the beginning. And you weren't here for the plot, he realized. You were here for the sound of his voice, low pitched and gentle. You let it crash around you, carry you with it's tide.

As he read, his hand played in your hair. It traced down the shell of your ear. It stroked the side of your neck. It rubbed gently at the back. These touches were surprisingly gentle for the Avatar of Wrath, you though as you let yourself drift. 

It wasn't long until you were dozing, your head in his lap. It wasn't long before he stopped off reading, and let himself enjoy the sensation of touching you. Keeping you grounded, he thought to himself. Reminding you that you weren't alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote that quicker than I thought!
> 
> Thanks for reading, hope you enjoyed. I have another Obey Me! plot line I'll explore. Please give that one a read, too! 
> 
> The playlist for this fic is as follows:
> 
> Lucifer: Everything Fades-Poets of the Fall  
> Asmo: Somewhere In Between-Hawthorn Heights  
> Beel: Follow You-Bring Me the Horizon  
> Mammon: Ride With U-Smash Into Pieces  
> Levi: Patient Love-Passenger  
> Belphie: Best I Can-Art of Dying   
> Satan: I'll Be Okay-Nothing More


End file.
